


Cocoa and Mulled Wine

by aykroyd



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: M/M, They are gay, i am gay, let them be gay and do gay things
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-25
Updated: 2019-06-25
Packaged: 2020-05-19 07:20:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,938
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19352158
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aykroyd/pseuds/aykroyd
Summary: Crowley sparks a discussion of sin with Aziraphale while stealing his wine





	Cocoa and Mulled Wine

It was a silly way to pass time, Aziraphale thought. Of all the human tendencies he adopted, sleep was not one of them. He’d rather pass time rereading the Iliad or listening to a Vivaldi piece he had missed seeing live in the 18th century. He didn’t know how some people could pass time unconscious when there was so much to enjoy and consume. The thought of consuming actually made Aziraphale quite peckish. He was thinking of picking up a scone when a terrible growling came from Crowley on his couch. Right. That’s why he was thinking about how useless sleeping was, because at that moment a certain demon was slumbering on his sofa. Without permission. 

“I know for a fact you’re faking those snores, Crowley. Please stop, it’s dreadful.” Aziraphale sat at the edge of the armchair across from the sofa, cautiously. 

Crowley opened his eyes, hidden behind his askew sunglasses. “How do you know I’m faking, angel?” 

Aziraphale’s spine stiffened at the nickname Crowley threw around so casually. He had yet to get used to how gentle it sounded, no matter how Crowley spit it out. 

“Because we don’t snore! We usually don’t even sleep, but I’m sure you’re sick of me telling you that by now.” 

Crowley took off his glasses and swung his endless legs underneath him so he was sitting upright. 

“I know we don’t need to, Aziraphale, but it’s so nice to just turn off, forget this,” He gestures his hands wildly, “Shit once in a while.” His hands dropped and he let out a sigh. 

“And the snoring, well. It just makes me smile to see you squirm.” Crowley smiled, as if to prove his point, and Aziraphale felt his cheeks redden. Crowley’s smile widened, “ Ah, angel, we also don’t need to blush. Interesting choice.” 

Aziraphale rubbed his cheeks self-consciously and frowned. “I’m just-- just keeping up appearances, we pretend to be human so often, I-- Well, you know, it’s hard to turn it off.” He felt ridiculous for rubbing his cheeks and let his hands fall to his lap. Crowley barked out a laugh. 

“How is that any different from me sleeping? You blushing, you eating, it’s all human influences. Demonic influence, perhaps?” He smirked again, leaning towards Aziraphale and resting his head in his hands, teasing him with a wiggle of his eyebrow. 

The angel’s breath got stuck in his throat, not that he needed it. It had been a few hundred years since he had really taken in Crowley’s face, but he took the time to glance it over. He told himself a while ago that he shouldn’t look to long, that that was the problem. He was an angel, he was full of love and of an aching to place it somewhere. But not there, not with the demon, not with Crowley. So he decided to stop looking. It didn’t help. Now, as his eyes took in Crowley’s face, he saw the softness in it. He had been an angel once, of course, but he had fallen hard and the lines of his face were sharp. But Aziraphale saw the softness, saw the love contained there, saw how it too was aching to--

“Aziraphale!” The angel’s eyes snapped back into focus and he realized how close he had leaned towards Crowley. Crowley hadn’t moved an inch away. “I’m waiting for an answer.” 

Aziraphale let out the breath he had been holding, tenderly, watching how Crowley reacted. Crowley’s teasing smile wavered and he sat up straight. Aziraphale’s breath had smelled lightly of hot chocolate and Crowley couldn’t help but wonder what that breath must taste like if he were to press his lips against Aziraphale’s. The thought made him dizzy. 

Aziraphale straightened as well, letting the moment they’d just shared fade. “I uh-- I like to appreciate the things the humans have made. Like the art, the music, the cuisine. It seems such a pity to waste it by… you know, sleeping it away. The 14th century wasn’t all that bad, you know.” Crowley rolled his eyes and slipped his sunglasses back over his eyes. 

“Don’t bring up the blasted 14th century again, Aziraphale, that’s dirty. Even for you.” Aziraphale smiled teasingly and Crowley couldn’t help but return it. The angel was annoying, but after 6000 years, the demon couldn’t help but find it charming. 

“Are you thirsty, Aziraphale?” Crowley stood up and sauntered to the cupboard he knew Aziraphale kept his most prized wine. Aziraphale trailed him with a worried expression. 

“Crowley, wait-- I-- Look. You can’t just show up here whenever you’d like and sleep on my couch and drink my wine!” Aziraphale screwed up his face in what he hoped was a stern expression. It was not. Crowley looked over his glasses and the angel tried fruitlessly to maintain his expression. 

“Why not? We’re friends aren’t we?” 

“Well, I mean. Technically... what we are is a demon and an angel. This isn’t what one would call a traditional friendship.” Aziraphale flapped his arms in what he hoped was a semblance of a shrugging gesture. It was not. With one hand on the handle of the cupboard, Crowley turned around.

“Traditional friendship? Aziraphale you can be so daft sometimes. We were the original friendship! No one has ever been friends as long as you and me.” He threw open the door and took out a bottle of dusty wine. Aziraphale was blushing again, he truly couldn’t help himself. 

“That’s not-- I mean. We’re friendly, sure, but friends? It’s not allowed! It’s not right! We’re good and we’re evil, that’s just how it works. Ineff--” Crowley threw up a hand to stop Aziraphale from completing his sentence and the cork of the ancient wine popped out without being touched. 

“I don’t really think we can fit in the boxes of good and evil anymore, angel. Me and you, we’re something differently entirely. Can’t you feel that? You keep hiding from the fact that you might have fallen yourself if God gave a shit anymore.” Crowley plopped back down on the sofa and crossed his legs on Aziraphale’s coffee table. Aziraphale quickly followed behind him, picking up a stack of index cards with illegible scribbles on them and stacking them back on the table. 

“Don’t-- I mean,” The sentiment really flustered Aziraphale, not because it was untrue, but because the thought plagued him most days. “That’s not true, I’m good.” He said it as if he were convincing himself. “And you’re evil. It just is.” He tried to sound confident. Crowley took another swig of wine and sighed.

“Fine, whatever. I’m not going to fix six millennia of denial in a night, I suppose. So if you’d like, you could have a bite to eat, Gluttony, or maybe collect more expensive unopened wine, Greed, or maybe even stack more material possessions around your bloody bookshop, Pride,” He was counting off the sins with his fingers, ”You’re a sinner and you love it, just admit it.” Aziraphale did love it. He had lived on earth for so long and had encountered every single deadly sin and he had luxuriated in them. 

“I do!” He blurted painfully, as if the act of admitting it would send him straight through the floor to hell, but like Crowley had said, the Person upstairs didn’t give a shit anymore. “I do! I do! I sin and I sin and I love it, dreadfully!” He stamped his foot and covered his face with his hands, the red flush already reaching the tips of his ears. He sat down hard in the armchair, refusing to look up at Crowley. 

Aziraphale could hear the chuckle in his voice when he spoke. “Ah, I know, angel, it’s just nice to hear you say it.” Aziraphale removed his hands and truly looked at Crowley again. The smile still lingered on his lips and the angel’s eyes traced them. He blinked quickly and returned his gaze to his lap. 

“So what’s your favorite?” Aziraphale looked up again as Crowley took a long sip of wine. 

“Favorite?” 

“Yes, angel, your favorite sin? Of the big seven, I mean.” He wiped a bead of wine that was falling from his chin. Aziraphale gulped and wiped his own mouth, unconsciously. He didn’t want to say what his mind was screaming, which sin that has driven him crazy since the garden of Fucking Eden, the original sin that kicked around the back of his head constantly. 

“You just got me, an angel, to admit I’ve,” his voice lowered, “sinned, and now you want me to tell you which one I prefer?” Crowley nodded slowly. 

“You are quick, aren’t you? So, which one? I personally prefer sloth. Lounging, relaxing, not another cardinal sin like it.” To prove his point, Crowley reclined on Aziraphale’s sofa, a line of skin beneath his shirt peeked out. Aziraphale swallowed hard, again. He could feel his forehead beginning to sweat. He hadn’t sweat in a very long time, and never once without trying. 

“I--” He tried to tell himself that he didn’t know what was happening to him, that the aching he had felt for years wasn’t bursting to the surface. “I-- I guess, of all se--seven. Lust. Lust might be the one of which I’m most familiar.” 

Crowley’s eyebrows raised and he felt his heartbeat quicken. It wasn’t the response he had expected. He’d gotten quite used to Aziraphale deflecting his small attempts at flirting, casting them out as temptation, this was an entirely new beast. He found himself at a loss for words, despite having so many to say seconds earlier.

They sat in silence for a few moments. Aziraphale gripping the legs of his pants with anxious energy, Crowley tapping absently on the almost empty wine bottle. Neither could begin to express years and years of unspoken passion in words. Crowley cleared his throat and he found himself being pulled toward Aziraphale. He noticed the angel’s hands were vibrating and he allowed himself a couple more steps. Crowley leaned forward, the tip of his nose gently connecting with Aziraphale’s. The angel let out a nearly silent moan. 

“I know all about lust, angel. I’d like to know what you know about it?” The demon was whispering, his lips achingly close, Aziraphale found himself leaning ever closer, his whole body commanding him to close the space between them. He tried to speak. 

“Years. Years and years of desperation, Crowley, I can’t help but love you, it’s what I do.” Aziraphale all but whimpered the words, their faces were so close and yet Crowley still had to strain to hear. Crowley sat down then, falling into place in Aziraphale’s lap. Aziraphale’s arms flailed to wrap around him so he wouldn’t fall. Crowley smiled, the warmth of the angel’s embrace spreading down his spine. 

“I just wanted to hear you say it,” Crowley whispered. He finally broke the space between them with a kiss that swirled with hot cocoa and mulled wine, a kiss that felt like it had begun the first time they saw each other on the east side of the Garden of Eden. A kiss that felt like the end of something and yet the first cries of something new all together. Aziraphale pulled Crowley closer to him with a desperate quickness until their bodies felt inseparable. Crowley was overwhelmed by a feeling of warmth hellfire had never provided before. 

Crowley slowly released the kiss and laid his head on Aziraphale’s shoulder, as the angel traced his fingers over Crowley’s back.   
“I love you, angel.” 

“Oh, dear, all I do is love you.” He replied.


End file.
